Snowy Owl by Emily Isaacson
Majestic was the span of the snowy owl's wing—
a vast country stood strong and true,
its strength throughout the Arctic ranges was omnipotent,
hunter of the wild hare, the fox spent,
it has no predator, nor silent does it sing.
Winter had a velvet glove on an iron hand—
the large owl in white grew pale with time,
hovering above the lamplight's glow sublime,
the second owl had markings of the mysterious wild
with golden eyes reveling in the harsh and mild,
rising into raptor heights above the land.
A predator that does not mind the ice,
the owl's feet are feathered,
it observes its wisdom weathered,
it has precision in a grip of vise.
What government could mind me in its double-bind:
the wisdom beating one last snowy breath,
the essence of fidelity's deafness,
unrelenting winter was never kind,
the field of night beneath the moon unwinds.